Fault Line
by Sweet Lu
Summary: Deeks struggles in the aftermath of a failed operation and the team must find a way to help him deal with overwhelming guilt.
1. Chapter 1

**Fault Line**

...

He felt himself growing cold and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he walked under the pier. He had left work wearing only a light T-shirt and now that it was getting dark, the wind had come up and he regretted not grabbing his jacket. But he'd needed to get away from everybody and hadn't been exactly thinking straight when he'd stormed out. He paused to watch the waves break and to let the sound of their hollow pounding against the huge pilings block out the voices that kept reverberating in his head, but that didn't last long. The voices had been with him since the operation ended and he couldn't seem to drown them out no matter what he did. His own voice was the harshest and loudest and the bitter denunciations that were still fresh in his mind only added to a feeling of devastation he couldn't shake. He had tried to listen to everyone's attempts to placate him, to talk him out of what he was feeling, but their comments had only made him angry and were the reason he'd left. The guilt he carried would always be there no matter what anybody said and he wouldn't let any of them tell him that what had happened wasn't his fault. If it wasn't his fault, then whose was it? The same question went around and around in his head, making him search the darkening ocean for the serenity he'd always found there. But tonight there was no solace in the powerful waves, only a dark turbulence that matched the turmoil in his mind.

He walked the shoreline until the wound under his arm began to throb and the sun dropped below the gray clouds along the horizon. He had only been out of the hospital for a day and he could feel the stitches pulling in his back as he hunched against the whipping wind. He forced himself to keep walking until his head started pounding and exhaustion began pressing down on him. He didn't want to go home. It was too quiet there and the voices would be too loud and the self-accusations too powerful for him to handle, so he finally headed away in search of a quiet bar. He hadn't taken a pain pill for a few hours, so a drink couldn't hurt. At least that was his justification. But one drink turned into more than several and it was after midnight before he stumbled out of the shoddy little bar on a side street in Venice. He couldn't quite remember where he'd left his car so he once again stuffed his hands into his pockets and headed back toward the pier. He began to shiver as the cold wind cut through his thin shirt and the pain from the exit wound in his chest and exhaustion mixed with the alcohol made it hard for him to stay on his feet. He finally just sat down against a wall and fell asleep.

He woke up to someone kicking him lightly on the leg and then winced as he was poked a little harder in the ribs. He mumbled a curse and waved at whoever it was to back away, but a stronger kick close to the wound in his back brought him wide awake and swinging. His fist connected and he heard the man grunt in surprise as he was knocked off his feet. A second man yelled at him, but in his drunken state he couldn't quite make it out so he turned toward him and was clubbed to the sidewalk. When he was held down and handcuffed, he finally understood that they were cops and he stopped fighting, letting them put him in the squad car without comment. For some reason he wasn't even angry, just relieved. He knew the procedure he was about to go through. It was familiar and he felt his body relax as he slid down onto the seat as they drove him to the precinct for booking. At least he would have someplace to sleep tonight, he thought. As he started to doze off, he tried to remind himself to tell them he was a cop, or that he used to be a cop, but he wasn't sure they would care, especially the one he had socked in the eye.

...

The recurring nightmare jolted him awake and it took him awhile to realize where he was. The drunk tank in a local precinct was not a very warm and cozy place and the smell was quite rank, but he figured he deserved to be there, remembering he had assaulted a police officer. The team would all be pissed at him, and he wouldn't blame them. He felt ashamed of himself and shook his head to clear away the cobwebs, but the images from his dream wouldn't leave his mind and he knew he wouldn't go back to sleep, so he let himself slowly process the dark memories once again. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to keep from shaking as the details of that day played havoc with his sanity. The event always seemed to move through his mind in slow motion and it was as if he was watching it from one of the security cameras that surrounded the pool. He could see himself laughing, enjoying the sunny day, and that had been his first mistake.

His sharp intake of breath as he recalled the first gunshot caused the man next to him to turn toward him. The filthy man stared at him and then asked him if he knew he was bleeding. The sight of the blood on his shirt caused tears to spring in his eyes as he remembered whose blood had covered the same spot that terrible day. He began to hyperventilate and turned to the wall next to him and began hitting it as hard as he could until his fists began to bleed. He stared down at his hands as he had that day, but it had been someone else's blood on his hands then, their lifeblood slipping through his fingers.

Someone must have alerted a guard, because he was grabbed from behind and shoved up against the bars of the cell. The guard was talking to him quietly, but he paid no attention, not even hearing the words as the vision of the heartrending event scrolled continuously through his mind, always ending with the same image and he was unable to stop himself from screaming. He sank to his knees as he became overwhelmed by the unrelenting memories and the stark guilt at his failure. It had been a simple assignment, one he had enjoyed up until the end when he had failed to do his job. He had let someone be killed and he would never be able to change that fact. He didn't want to see his face but it wouldn't leave his mind, neither would the blood on his hands.

He felt himself being lifted up by strong arms and he was so beyond caring what happened to him that he made no attempt to resist or fight the man supporting his weight as he was helped from the cell. He knew the man was saying something to him; kind words he thought, but words he couldn't process because they were being drowned out by the screaming face in his head. The black rage on the face of the man who had rightly accused him of failure was the rage he was living with, a rage that wouldn't let him hear anyone else's words, even those from the man who was half carrying him out into the night. He was put in the back of another car which he was sure wasn't a patrol car because it smelled too nice and the seats were a warm leather. Exhaustion dragged at him and he curled up on the seat and felt himself drifting in a fog that finally slowed down the images in his head. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder as the fog grew heavy; the smooth motion of the car finally began to calm him and he slowly felt the last remnants of consciousness float away.

...


	2. Chapter 2

**Fault Line: Chapter 2**

...

He opened his eyes briefly to get his bearings, but the bright sunlight exploded the pounding ache in his head to momentous proportions and he quickly closed them. He knew he wasn't in a hospital, but exactly where he was hadn't registered during his first attempt to survey his surroundings. He castigated himself silently as he remembered the shoddy bar in Venice and the bottle of whiskey he'd ordered, hoping it would help him forget, but really hoping it would knock him out. It had, but not long enough. His mind was fuzzy and unclear; he thought he remembered being in jail, but how he got here, he hadn't a clue.

As he threw the covers off, he felt a wave of pain wrap his chest and he wondered where he had left his medication. He opened one eye, squinting at the bandages that covered his wounds. They looked new, so maybe he was in a hospital. He decided he should try looking around one more time and opened the other eye. Pain shot through that eye and he heard himself groan and felt disgusted with himself for drinking so much. He'd have to remember what over half a bottle of whiskey did to your head. Nobody to blame but yourself, buddy, he thought. Then the image of the boy came back and the dark mood that went with it.

Nobody to blame but yourself. True words. There was no one else responsible except for the shooter. But it had been his job to stop the shooter from harming the boy and he had failed to do that. He accepted that fact and as he lay back on the bed he let that failure settle deep within him. True, he had killed the shooter, but it had been too late to save the boy. His mind picked up the thread of that day and he could see the boy laughing as he splashed in the shallow end of the pool, his dark brown hair wet and dripping water in his eyes. He was only seven and small for his age, but he was a strong swimmer and had begged to go to the pool before lunch. They swam together briefly, but he had gotten out after hearing a sound he couldn't place. The boy was shouting at him to come back in when the first bullet shattered the small table next to him and he had grabbed his gun. He remembered how sluggish he felt as he scrambled toward the edge of the pool, reaching down to grab the boy's arm, yanking him up and out and hugging him to his chest as he ran for the cover of the pool house at the end of the patio. Everything seemed to happen so slowly in his memory, but he knew it had only taken seconds in real time. He was shielding the boy with his body as he reached the pool house and had yet to fire his weapon. The second bullet hit him in the back under his left arm and exited through his chest, striking the boy in the heart and killing him instantly. The impact threw him into the wall and the boy slipped out of his arms and onto the ground. He managed to turn and fire twice as the shooter ran toward him. The bullets hit the man in the chest knocking him back into the pool where he floated, his blood coloring the water around him.

Everything had become suddenly silent after all the gunfire and he had collapsed to the ground next to the boy, not even realizing that he was already gone. He remembered cradling him in his arms and being shocked at the amount of blood that covered his small body. When the team reached him he was trying to wipe the blood away but there was too much, his and the boy's mingled together in the bright sun. He wouldn't let them take him until the father ran up screaming with rage. A rage he had taken as his own and that now was all that remained in his mind of that horrible morning.

He wiped silent tears from his face and crawled back beneath the covers, not caring where he was or why he had been brought here because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now, not the pain he was feeling or the heavy sadness he would always carry. He didn't know how to get past it. How do you atone for such a failure, he wondered? He didn't think he ever would, so he lay there and the memories rewound themselves and started all over again until he finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

He woke up again just as the sun was setting and saw Sam staring back at him and he turned away from him. Sam didn't say anything, he just walked around the bed until he was facing him again and held out some pills and a glass of water. He sat up and took them, his hand shaking badly as he did.

"It was you last night, wasn't it?" he said as he handed back the glass.

"It was all of us, Deeks," he answered. "We'd been trying to find you ever since you left Ops. When Hetty got the call we were making our second run through Venice."

"Where am I?" He looked around and saw nothing familiar.

"One of Hetty's many houses," he said with a small smile.

"I should go home," he said as he sat up on the side of the bed.

"No way, Deeks," Sam said. "I was in that jail cell, remember? I saw what you did to your hands and I heard you scream. So, no, you are not going home by yourself."

He hung his head in resignation, knowing they were only trying to help, but there was no way they could help him, no way anyone could help him now. He rose from the bed, pushing Sam's hand away as he reached out to steady him. He felt his anger starting to build at their interference. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone? He had seen the looks on their faces that day, the accusation in their eyes. They knew he'd screwed up, he'd seen the shocked expressions, heard the whispers as they watched him loaded in the ambulance, he knew what they were thinking, so why didn't they just let him go? Why pretend he was innocent now?

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

"You can stay here as long as you need to, Mr. Deeks," Hetty said as she quietly entered the room.

"I don't want to stay here at all, Hetty," he said as he stood looking out the window. He didn't want to look at her; afraid he would see that look of disappointment on her face he'd seen when he'd woken up after surgery.

"Mr. Deeks, you're not the only person on this team who has suffered a loss like this," she said.

"I deserve to suffer," he whispered. "I caused the loss. Jamie died because I wasn't paying attention. He died because I was goofing off, and nothing any of you say can ever change that."

"Deeks, you took a bullet trying to protect him," Sam said.

He turned and looked at Sam and then hit him as hard as he could, surprised that he actually knocked him down. He thought he'd probably broken his hand, but he felt better. He turned and picked up his clothes and walked out of the room. He found a bathroom and quickly dressed. The need to run was so strong he was shaking. When he came out of the bathroom, Callen and Kensi were waiting for him.

"You broke Sam's nose," Callen said with a small smirk. ""He'll make you pay for that."

He tried to walk past them but Kensi stepped into his path and put her hand on his chest. He could see the tears swimming in her eyes and he longed to hug her and let her comfort him, but not now. Now, not even she could comfort him. He didn't deserve it, didn't want it and he shoved her roughly aside as he tried to leave. Callen grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, grabbing his shirt and forcing him back hard against the wall. Deeks' anger exploded into black rage and he charged the agent, slamming him to the floor and hitting him again and again as tears streamed down his face. He felt an arm circle his neck and realized Kensi was trying to get him in a chokehold. He grabbed her arm and turned into her, shoving the heel of his hand into her chest, forcing the air from her lungs and she fell to the floor. As he stood over her, he saw a large form moving toward him fast out of the corner of his eye, but he was too late getting an arm up to protect himself. Sam's fist slammed into his jaw and light exploded in his head, followed instantly by darkness.

...


	3. Chapter 3

**Fault Line: Chapter 3**

...

He jerked awake and found himself on a bed in a small room without windows. The side of his face felt like it was on fire and his head was dense with a throbbing ache that made him nauseous. His mind recoiled when he recalled what he had done. He'd hit Sam and Callen and knocked Kensi to the floor. Why had he done that? He knew he was angry with himself, but why had he taken it out on the people he cared about? I'm a messed up pile of shit, he thought and then sensed he wasn't alone and turned over to see Hetty sitting in a chair with a file folder in her lap.

"I'm here because they all agreed that you probably wouldn't hit me," she said. "You aren't going to are you?" There was a hint of a smile in her words and definitely no fear in her voice.

"Of course not, Hetty," he said. The pain pulsed in his jaw as he spoke and he thought he would keep his comments to a minimum for now.

"I didn't think so," she said. "Do you feel better now that you've hit someone? Actually, you've hit everyone but me."

"No," he said as he turned his back to her and tried to get comfortable. The wounds in his chest and back were starting to burn and he looked to see if there were any pain meds on the table. He found a glass of water and the bottle of pills and quickly took a couple before settling back on the bed to stare at the ceiling.

"So, I'm a prisoner now?" he asked.

"For the time being, you are," she said.

"You can't keep me locked up here forever, Hetty."

"No, not forever Mr. Deeks. But I will until you begin to listen and understand."

"Understand what?"

"Understand that you're not the only one to go through this."

He knew that, but it didn't change how he felt, but he was stunned that they had gone to all this effort to keep him here. Did they really believe they could change how he felt if they kept him here long enough? What he'd let happen was unforgivable; didn't they know that?

"The first time Callen had someone die on his watch, he almost beat a suspect to death," Hetty said softly. "He was younger than you when it happened and he went off the grid afterwards for almost three months. When he came back he was different. Failure changes a person, sometimes for the good and sometimes for the worst. But it always changes you in some way. Each person has to come to terms with it and you either learn from it or you let it destroy you. You're here, Mr. Deeks, to discover which one of those you choose."

His eyes became clouded with tears as his mind locked onto the image of his failure, an image of a vibrant little boy he had taken to instantly and who had made him laugh with his corny, childish jokes. He had been assigned to guard him because everyone knew he was good with kids, and he was. He liked them, understood them and always seemed to know just what to say to them, but in the end that wasn't the most important part of his job and he'd forgotten that. He had enjoyed being with the boy too much and had let his guard down and the cost of his failure, the death of that child, would stay with him for the rest of his life. He was afraid to say his name because it hurt too much and he turned away from Hetty as the vision of the boy's father screaming in his face filled his mind. The boy's father knew just who to blame, he'd screamed it in his face as he'd gathered his son in his arms. The overwhelming emptiness he felt that day as the father carried the boy away, was a part of him now. He would never be whole again.

"I'll never get past it, will I Hetty?"

"No, not completely. But you have to learn to live with it and keep going, keep doing your job, Mr. Deeks. There is some solace in that." Hetty got up and gently squeezed his arm. "We're human, Marty. Not one of us is perfect. Everyone on this team is so good at their job, including you that we begin to think we're invincible, incapable of failure because it's not a word we allow into our vocabulary, we can't. And sometimes that makes us overconfident. Failure at this job is not something we consider or accept, so when it happens, it's devastating."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to do my job after this," he said softly.

"Let yourself grieve, Mr. Deeks," Hetty said. "And talk to your teammates. They can help you, if you let them. Listen to their experiences, their failures, and give yourself time to process what happened. That's the reason you're here, so you can learn from what happened and go on with your life."

"I'm not sure I deserve that, Hetty."

"Yes you do, Mr. Deeks, yes you do."

She left him then and the emptiness of the room matched the emptiness he was starting to embrace, a void that was growing within him that would never be filled. Exhaustion claimed him as he did as Hetty suggested, he grieved and he cried and then he slept.

...

Hetty's quiet voice roused him from a deep sleep, one that had been free of the nightmare that had tormented him every night since the shooting. He suspected the dinner she had served him the night before had been drugged. He hadn't eaten but a few bites so the drugs had to have been pretty strong. He certainly wouldn't put that past her, and he was rather thankful to her for it. He hadn't had a full night's sleep since waking up in the hospital and the exhaustion he felt was almost as painful as his wounds.

"How about some breakfast, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty placed the tray on the bed.

"I'm not hungry," he answered and looked away from her. "Besides, the eggs are probably drugged." His voice held an edge to it as anger fluttered just below the surface.

"You needed to sleep last night, Mr. Deeks," she said as she came and sat in the chair next to his bed.

"Are they all mad at me?" His voice sounded distant even to himself as he struggled with the fear of losing close friends and Kensi because of his actions.

"A little, yes," Hetty answered. "But they all understand. Sam's planning some sort of revenge from what I've heard. He's embarrassed that you were able to knock him down. So heads up when you see him."

That made him smile. He found he was actually looking forward to whatever Sam had in mind. Maybe he'd feel better if someone beat the crap out of him and Sam could certainly do that. His jaw still ached from the one punch he'd already taken.

"I wasn't talking about yesterday when I hit them, Hetty," he said. He stared briefly at the cup of coffee he had taken from the tray and then at Hetty. Neither one spoke as he slowly drank his coffee.

"You think we are angry with you for what happened?" Hetty asked shaking her head.

"Aren't you?" His voice cracked and he felt himself dreading the answer.

"I'm angry at what happened and I'm angry with you for taking all the blame on yourself, Mr. Deeks," Hetty said. "This was a team operation, and we all share the blame. Do you think you're the only one upset about the death of the boy?"

"He was my responsibility. I was supposed to keep him safe," he said and his mind flashed again with the haunting image that was never far away. His eyes flooded with tears and he fought to keep his emotions in check, afraid that if they took over he would never be able to come back to sanity.

"And you almost died trying Mr. Deeks," she said and reached to touch his hand to comfort him, but he pulled it away.

"And I failed," he said, closing his eyes so he wouldn't see the disappointment on her face.

"We all did," she said solemnly.

"How do I live with this?" His words were said as much to himself as to Hetty and he wasn't sure there was an answer.

He was close to the edge now, close to wanting to run or hit something, to vent the deep-seated anger that was threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he needed to reach out to someone, but he wasn't used to doing that and he still wasn't convinced any of them wanted anything more to do with him after what had happened. How could he look them in the face? Sam was a SEAL, a perfectionist who expected the same from the people he worked with. He was sure Sam would never forgive him. And Callen, he was the perfect agent, and he had let him down, so he didn't expect him to trust him again. How could he work with them if they didn't trust him?

Kensi was the only one he thought might forgive him even though he could never forgive himself. He longed for her, he needed her and if she didn't want to see him, then he was lost. She had been so quiet at the hospital and they hadn't talked much and when they did it was never about the boy or the operation.

"Mr. Deeks, you're not alone. We all care about you," Hetty said softly.

"I'm not so sure that's true," he said. "How can the team trust me after this?"

"Let them see you and talk to you. Let them help you get through this, Marty." Hetty's voice had a hint of desperation in it.

"Do you think they want to?" He asked.

...


	4. Chapter 4

**Fault Line: Chapter 4**

...

"Feel up to a walk in the garden, Mr. Deeks?" Hetty said as she entered the room.

She left the door to the room open and that surprised him. He was sitting in the chair beside the bed with the file folder she had left there after breakfast. He looked down at it as she walked up to him and he felt his muscles relax as she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Is this accurate, Hetty?" he asked.

"I thought you deserved to read the complete report before you talked to the others," she answered. "It's not easy to read, but you need to see what happened from every angle if you are to come to terms with it."

"Is this really what they think of me?" he whispered.

"Yes, Mr. Deeks, it is," she said. "Now come out to the garden. You look like you could use some fresh air."

He hesitated before standing to follow her. He wasn't sure he wanted to leave the confines of the tiny room. He had come to think of it as a haven, a safe place to hide from the world and explore the depth of his sorrow and guilt. Being locked away here had helped him to calm down and dull some of the nightmares that haunted him. He felt physically weak and lethargic and he wasn't sure if it was from his injury or because of the deep sadness that seemed to weigh him down. Either way, he realized that what they had done by bringing him here had been a lifesaver for him.

He walked slowly toward the door, not sure he was ready to face the others just yet, especially Sam. He stopped at the open door and watched Hetty walk down the narrow corridor and turn back to look at him. He realized in that moment how much she meant to him. It had been a long time since his mother had passed away and even though Hetty was his boss, he knew she cared about him and that he cared about her. She was looking out for him now, when he needed it the most and he felt his heart clutch at the closeness of their connection. He trusted her, trusted that she had only the best motives in what she was doing for him now, so he followed her as she opened the door leading out to the garden. The bright sunshine caused him to shield his eyes but it felt wonderfully warm and comforting on his skin.

He remembered the stark fear that had flared in his mind when she'd asked him to come to the garden, and he could feel his heart begin to race as he rounded the corner of the house. He exhaled in relief and leaned shakily against one of the low stone walls when he saw there was no pool. He didn't want to see another pool for a long time, and he was pretty sure Hetty had known that when she chose this place. She patted him gently on the small of his back and led the way to a patio in the middle of the garden, shaded by an umbrella and set for lunch. They were alone and he felt himself relax as he discovered he was actually hungry.

"Thank you, Hetty," he said. "You've gone to a lot of trouble for me, and I'm grateful."

"You're worth the effort, Mr. Deeks," she said with a small smile on her face.

"You must think so," he said.

"We all do. Now eat; you've lost quite a bit of weight since you were shot," she instructed and he didn't argue.

It was a lovely place, this very secret garden, he thought as he ate his lunch. It was surrounded by a high stone wall that was draped with vines and lightly shaded by old olive trees and he laughed inwardly at the beauty of his prison. Flowers nodded in the bright sun and fountains filled the air with a relaxing burble and he slowly sank back in his very comfortable chair and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of chittering birds and the bees buzzing around the leftovers on his plate. It was the calmest he'd felt in the three long weeks since the shooting. The horror of that day didn't belong in this peaceful place but it was there in his mind nonetheless. Just as his mind began to rewind the incessant memory, he sensed a shadow cross his face and opened his eyes to see the familiar smile of Austin Fellers, Hetty's close friend, sometime chef and undercover consultant. The man had helped him before and he was pleasantly surprised to see him again. They had developed a bond during that particular assignment and he wondered why Hetty had brought him here. He knew it wasn't a coincidence.

"Bread pudding with whiskey sauce, Mr. Deeks?" Austin Fellers asked, but already knowing the answer. As he placed the plate down, the man's free hand grasped his shoulder and he turned to look up to see him quickly blink back tears.

"Are you okay, Austin?" Deeks asked, reaching out for him.

"We'll talk after you finish your dessert, Marty," he said, taking a seat across from him. He seemed different than he remembered him. He had been outgoing and funny and full of incredible tips about how to work an alias. Now he was somber, closed off and withdrawn and he wondered what could have happened to him.

Hetty rose and after putting a reassuring hand on Austin's shoulder she excused herself and left. He watched her leave and silently ate one of the best desserts he'd ever had as he tried to call to mind what little he actually knew about Austin Fellers. Hetty had told him he'd been one of the CIA's best undercover operatives and he had seen first hand how good he was at assuming an alias, but why he wanted to talk to him he could only guess.

"It's better than I remember, Austin," he said as he finished every bit of his dessert.

"I've been refining the recipe," he said softly before looking out over the garden. "Did you know this was the first house Hetty bought in LA? She used it whenever she came out from Washington. It's where she brought me after my cover was blown in Yemen. I spent three months here recuperating and trying to get my sanity back, a lot like you are now."

"She told me you almost died," he said. He could see Austin was struggling to talk about what he had gone through. "You don't have to do this, Austin. I'll be okay eventually."

"Will you? I wasn't. I'm still not, Marty," he said as his hands began to shake. "I was tortured and left for dead and when I was in the hospital I wished I had died. I tried to kill myself, Marty, and that's when Hetty had me brought here. She had me under twenty-four hour surveillance for over a month until I could come out here on sunny days and start to come to terms with what I did."

"I'm sorry, Austin." He almost couldn't bear to see him like this. He was a charming man he admired and here he was revisiting a hellish part of his life to try and help him and he didn't want that.

"Don't put yourself through this, Austin, please," he pleaded. "I don't want you to relive all that because of me." He stood to leave, but Austin grabbed his arm and stopped him with an angry look.

"I don't want you to be destroyed like I was, Marty," he said. "I never made it back across that line."

He sat down again and they remained silent for a while, letting the garden work it's magic, calming them with its undertone of peace.

"I blew my own cover on that last assignment, Marty," Austin said softly. "As the alias I was working, I had become involved with a woman and her young daughter. I had been undercover for almost a year in a real shit hole of a place, and they were the only thing that kept me grounded. When the operation went critical, the terrorist I was trying to bring down grabbed both of them and I thought if I confessed that I was an agent and could convince him that they were just innocent bystanders, he would let them go."

"But he didn't," he said and reached across the table to grip Austin's arm, which was shaking uncontrollably.

"No. He made me watch." Austin's face was a mask of pain. "He brutally killed them both right in front of me and after that I didn't care what he did to me."

"God, Austin." He didn't know what to say and felt his own heart begin to pound as he asked the haunting question. "How old was the little girl?"

"She was five." Austin got up and walked to the back wall of the garden to a secluded bench under the olive trees. He waited, giving him time to collect himself and then followed. They sat side by side in the filtered sunlight, each remembering the child they had each known so briefly and whom they had felt responsible for.

"I always think of all the things I could have done differently that would have saved their lives," Austin said. "I should have grabbed them and run, like you did."

"It's not the same," he said. Tears pooled in his eyes as the pain became fresh again.

"I chose the assignment over them, and they paid for it," Austin said. "You chose to try and save the boy first before you tried to take down the target of your operation. You made the right choice, Marty."

"And he died anyway." His voice cracked and Austin put his arm around him. He felt his hand grip his neck and felt it tremble as he tried to console him. He knew Austin understood and that made all the difference.

"As much as we try, we can't control fate." Austin's voice was low and he turned to look him in the eye. "Don't let this destroy you, Marty. Stay here until you can catch your breath. Take your time and listen to your friends. You're not alone in this, you have people here who care about you, and it would devastate all of them if you lost your way."

...

_I introduced the character of Austin Fellers in my story, Real Riches. He is one of my favorites._


	5. Chapter 5

**Fault Line: Chapter 5**

...

Exhaustion had haunted him everyday since the shooting and today was no different. He wondered if it was psychological or if it was just taking him a long time to recover from the gunshot wound. He'd spent seventeen days in the hospital, partly because the bullet had gone through his lung, and he still had trouble breathing deeply without pain. He could tell he was badly out of shape and Hetty had been right about how much weight he'd lost. It was probably one of the reasons he felt so tired all the time. He missed running and surfing, but they would have to wait until he could breathe easily again. He was surprised either one had entered his mind. He hadn't thought of them since the shooting until today.

He wandered in the garden and soaked up some sun for most of the afternoon until exhaustion overcame him and he went back to his room. Everyone was leaving him alone for now, and he was grateful for the privacy. Being alone, without constant badgering, was helping him assess some of what Austin had said to him. He guessed they were badgering with a purpose in mind, but it was still badgering in his book and he still resented it. He hadn't felt this estranged from the team since going undercover as Max Gentry with Camacho's gang of arms traffickers, but he knew this time it was all his doing not theirs. Hetty had told him they wanted to see him, but he had asked for a couple of days of solitude and they had agreed, although she'd told him they weren't too happy about it, especially Kensi. They were action-oriented people, so he wasn't surprised that they wanted to deal with him head on. He'd shaken his head when Austin had told him they would all be devastated if he lost his way. What am I, a lost sheep, he thought with exasperation? Maybe a little lost, but mostly angry and unsure of himself. He couldn't seem to get a hold on himself. He felt as if he were floating two feet off the ground, unable to find solid ground.

His head had been spinning when he collapsed on the bed and managed to go to sleep. It was a short dreamless sleep and when he woke, it was to a soft knock on the door. They weren't locking him in anymore, so he got up and answered.

"Kensi," he said, shocked to see her standing there.

"I asked Hetty if I could bring your dinner," she said, moving quickly into the room as if she were afraid he wouldn't let her in.

He didn't say anything as she fussed with the tray, pouring him a beer and then looking back at him with a tentative look on her face. Her eyes were soft and shimmered with barely contained tears and he could tell she was trying very hard to keep a firm grip on her emotions but he wasn't sure she was winning that battle. She smiled slightly as she held the beer out to him, but he was afraid to take it, afraid if he touched her fingers he would not be able to control his own emotions. She got a confused look on her face as he hesitated and then he saw her pull herself together and walk resolutely toward him and she took his hand and shoved the beer into it and smiled.

"Afraid I'm going to punch you back?" she asked.

He took the beer and slowly drank, letting his uncertainty settle as he tried to determine where they stood now that he had actually knocked her to the ground when he tried to run. He said nothing as he walked around her and set the bottle down on the tray. He stared at the food and realized he wasn't remotely hungry now that she was here, so close he could reach out and touch her, but not sure she would let him.

"I'm sorry I hit you," he said, afraid to turn around and look her in the eye. His stomach was starting to churn and the palms of his hands felt weak and sweaty with fear as his emotions began to boil to the surface.

"I'm tough, I can take whatever you dish out, Deeks," she said with a soft laugh.

He smiled at her attempt at keeping things light between them, but he still resisted turning around, knowing that if he looked at her he would want to touch her and hold her and have her hold him. He felt an overwhelming need for her acceptance, but he wasn't sure she felt the same about him now. Did she think less of him because of his failure? He wasn't sure he had the courage to ask.

He sensed her behind him and he tensed as he felt her hands gently rest on his back and then move down to his hips, resting them there as she laid her head between his shoulders. Her arms slowly circled his waist and she gently pulled him back in an embrace. He held his breath, feeling himself start to break. She felt it too, and gently turned him around to face her, resting her head against his chest. He was afraid to breathe; afraid to fully embrace her because he knew he would completely lose it if he did, but she was unrelenting as she slowly stroked his back until he began to shake. She released him then and took his hand and led him to the bed. She sat down on the edge and pulled him down next to her. He stared down at her hand as she held his and he felt exhaustion dragging at him as he tried to stay upright.

"Your tired," she said.

She got up and gently pushed him down, lifting his legs up onto the bed and then quickly lying down beside him, she wrapped him in her arms. He broke. He had tried so hard not to let go, but she understood that and pulled him close, whispering to him as if he was a child. He couldn't hold in all the emotions any longer and he turned into her as they surged through him, ripping at the terror in his heart and still she held him, waiting until the wave of emotion and the tears had run their course and he stopped shaking. She held him and he felt comforted, more than he thought possible or deserved, clinging to her as she kissed him softly on the forehead and gently stroked his cheek. The anger that had built up in him and had threatened to explode seemed to dissipate as she rubbed his back and soothed him with soft-spoken words. He wanted to stay like this forever he thought and felt himself drift toward the edge of sleep.

The familiar nightmare flashed through his mind, the harsh light of that day and his own tears blinded him as he cradled the boy in his arms and looked toward the pool. Kensi was running toward him, shouting at him, but he couldn't hear the sound, he just knew she was yelling his name. The look on her face when she reached him was one of shock and disbelief and instant fear. The usual dream always ended with him staring at his bloody hands, but in this latest version it ended with her trying to take the boy's body from him and he fought her. He yelled at her to get away from him. He cursed her and she backed up, letting Sam try and take the boy as he slowly lost himself in a red swirl that spiraled into blackness.

He jerked awake in her arms and then rolled onto his back, wiping away the sweat that covered his face. She put her hand over his heart and he looked over at her as he tried to calm down.

"Do you have that nightmare every time?" She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him with a soft concerned look in her eyes.

"This one had a different ending," he said. "Tell me what I did when you got to me that day, Kens."

She slowly stroked his face and lightly touched his lips and he could tell by the way she was clinching her jaw that she was fighting an internal battle over how much she should tell him. Her eyes filled with barely contained tears and she wiped them fiercely away and then she lay back on the pillow next to him and stared at the ceiling without speaking.

"I need to know, Kens," he said, taking her hand.

"None of us knew anything was happening until Eric caught movement on one of the pool cameras." He could tell she was uncomfortable telling him this, but he felt calmer as she spoke. "Just as he yelled a warning we heard the first shot. We were so far away and we all just started running toward the pool as fast as we could."

He felt her tense up and grip his hand tightly and he looked over at her and saw her attempt to control her emotions. She didn't look at him, just took a deep breath and continued.

"We were only half way there when the gunfire stopped, and I started screaming your name, and Callen started yelling for a status report. When you didn't answer, I couldn't breathe, Marty. I was so scared I couldn't breathe."

She stopped talking then and he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand and she looked at him.

"I didn't have my earwig in, Kens, I'm sorry," he said. "I should never have gone in swimming with him."

"We couldn't have reached you in time, even if you had, Marty," she said. "We heard you screaming before we got there. You were screaming his name and I thought it was the most frightening sound I had ever heard. When I saw you at the far end of the pool, you were sitting with the boy in your lap and..."

Tears flooded down her cheeks and he pulled her onto his chest and held her. Neither one of them spoke for a while, until finally she found the strength to continue.

"There was so much blood and I started yelling your name because I could see that it was your blood too." Her breath felt hot on his chest and he reached up and gently wiped away her tears with his fingers.

"I was scared and I wanted to take the boy so I could see how badly you were hurt, but you wouldn't let go of him. You yelled at me and told me you were fine and you called me every name you could think of. Sam pushed me aside and tried to take the boy, but you held on to him so tightly. We could all see that he was dead, but you wouldn't listen."

"I felt like I was dreaming, Kens," he said. "I couldn't believe I let him die."

"You didn't let him die, Deeks," she said and he heard the anger in her voice. "You were shielding him with your own body and the guy shot you."

"But I should have..."

"Stop it," she yelled in his face. "Stop doing this to yourself. Why can't you understand you did everything you could?"

...


	6. Chapter 6

**Fault Line: Chapter 6**

...

He was restless. He hadn't been able to sleep after Kensi left and now that it was morning he couldn't stay still, so he walked quickly out to the garden, hoping it would help to quell his agitation. His nightmares had been brutal and all he remembered about them was the blood and the screaming. It was his own screaming he now recalled and it was haunting and he needed to escape from the horrible sounds in his head but he didn't know how. He felt the urge to run building inside of him once more and he clinched his fists tightly by his sides as he walked all the paths in the garden several times hoping to burn off some of his excess energy. He finally dropped onto the bench under the olive trees and fought to catch his breath.

Listening to Kensi tell part of the story had helped him and he had spent half the night trying to remember all the details, but they still weren't clear in his mind. Being with her had been a great comfort, easing his fear that she would think less of him for what had happened. She had been loving and kind as if nothing had changed between them and he had needed that. But, when she had confessed her own feelings of guilt for not being there to back him up, they had argued about it until she grew exasperated with him and left. He was beginning to realize that he wasn't the only one harboring feelings of guilt about that day and that they all were taking on some of the blame for the loss of the boy. Realizing that made him feel lighter somehow, but he knew where most of the blame should lie and that was on him.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes and his mind drifted as his body slowly relaxed in the warm, soft air of the garden.

He came back to himself when he felt strong hands come to rest on his shoulders. He started to get up, but the hands pressured him to stay and slowly began to massage away the tension in his neck and shoulders.

"I think you might have a second calling as a massage therapist, Sam," he said. He tried not to groan as Sam's strong fingers worked his muscles, easing away the knots and soothing the stress in his body.

"If you were a hundred percent healthy, I'd be throttling you right now," Sam said. "But you're not even close and it feels like your body is tied up in knots."

"I'm sorry I hit you Sam," he said, dropping his head to his chest. "I was just so angry and drunk that I lost it."

"You broke my nose, Deeks," Sam said. "And I liked my nose the way it was, so there will be payback, but I'll wait until you're healthy."

"Will I get a warning?" he asked with a small laugh.

"You didn't give me one, huckleberry," Sam pushed his head forward with a small laugh and came around and sat down next to him.

They sat silently for a while and he finally leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands as he waited for Sam to say something. He was afraid to hear what he had to say, convinced it would be a dressing down on everything he had done wrong. Even though he deserved to hear it, he knew it would hurt to hear it from Sam, a man he admired, a man of honor and loyalty and a man he believed would never forgive him for what happened to the boy. He had been prepared for a complete rejection and he was surprised at how kind Sam had just been to him.

"I came by your room last night after Kensi left," Sam said softly. "I heard you yelling in your sleep."

"Nightmares," he said as he rubbed his beard.

"How often are you having them?" Sam asked.

"Every time I close my eyes," he said. "Except the night Hetty drugged me."

Sam laughed and reached over and put his hand on the back of his neck and it felt strangely comforting and he was deeply touched by the brotherly gesture.

"Deeks, do you remember that case we worked when that teenage girl was kidnapped, put in a box and buried alive?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, her name was Amanda. You really pushed hard on that case," he sat up and looked over at Sam and could see sadness and regret on his face.

"I never told anyone but Callen about why I needed to find her," Sam said. "But I want to tell you now, because I want you to understand that I know what you're feeling. I know what survivor guilt feels like and I know what it's like to suffer from constant nightmares. I know how exhausting it is to keep trying to function normally when you feel anything but normal, because what happened to Amanda happened to me and a buddy of mine when we were with a SEAL team in Bosnia. We were ambushed and taken prisoner, I was beaten and Brian was shot. They buried us in a metal cabinet in the ground to hide us until they could come back later and interrogate us. There wasn't much air and when I was able to get a tube up and out so we could breathe Brian refused it because he knew he was dying and wanted me to have the air and a chance to survive. He bled out before we could be rescued."

He didn't know what to say. He remembered how intense Sam had been, how he'd driven all of them to work as hard as they could to save that young girl. He had thought at the time that it had to have been personal, but now he knew why and he saw the pain that still remained, etched in Sam's face.

"How long we're you in there?" he asked, appalled at what that must have been like.

"I don't know, but it felt like forever." Sam stared out at the garden and his body was tense. "When my buddy was dying, he told me when the time came it would be my turn to save someone else."

"It doesn't get better, does it, Sam?" he asked and his voice caught in his throat because if the answer was no, he didn't know if he could live with that.

"You will never forget, Deeks, but you will learn to live with it," Sam said and squeezed his arm and held it. "You hit me because I tried to let you off the hook too early. You think someone has to be held accountable, and you think that person is you, but that's not the whole truth and if you give yourself a break, you'll be able to see that. You want to blame only yourself right now, but we all failed him, Deeks. Ask any one of us, and that's what you'll hear.

"But I wasn't paying attention, Sam," he said, unable to let it go. "If I had been, I would have fired sooner."

"But there was no guarantee you would have hit him," Sam turned to face him and his look was intense. "He was hidden in the bushes above the pool. If you had turned and immediately returned fire and missed, he would have taken you out and then killed the boy. He was a trained Marine, Deeks. He had position. You made the right decision; you grabbed the boy and went for cover. It's what I would have done, Deeks."

He continued to shake his head as Sam spoke, even though his words were comforting. It all sounded reasonable and believable, but he knew he had to have messed up somewhere and he couldn't shake the feeling that if he had done a better job, the boy would still be alive.

"Deeks, you shouldn't have been alone at the pool with the boy," Sam said softly. "And that's not your fault, that's G's fault. He should have sent Kensi with you. She's your partner and she should have been there."

He was stunned by Sam's words. He was right and that fact shook him. He stood and walked to the stone wall and leaned his head against the cold stonework. His words were the same one's that Kensi had spoken last night and were the reason they had argued. She blamed herself for not being there to back him up, but he wouldn't let her shoulder any of the guilt and she became angry with him because of that.

"Deeks, you did your best," Sam said quietly as he came up behind him. "But, sometimes our best just isn't good enough."

"Jamie's father didn't think I did my best," he said.

"I heard what he screamed at you," Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "But it isn't true, Deeks. You didn't let Jamie die, and you did try to save him. You put your body between the shooter and the boy and you took a bullet that went through you and into him. You had no control over that, Deeks."

"I thought you were the one person who would never forgive me, Sam," he said.

"You're not the one who needs forgiveness, Deeks," Sam said. "The shooter was. He was the one who killed the boy and almost killed you. Don't take on his guilt, you don't deserve it."

He felt himself begin to shake and Sam gripped both his shoulders and held him as he broke down. Once again he saw the boy in his arms and the father's raging anger and he fell to his knees with his face against the wall. Sam knelt down behind him as he gasped for air. He felt himself let go of some of his guilt and it was hard. Those feelings had become a part of him since the shooting and now he felt them being ripped out of him by Sam's words. He felt a growing sense of sorrow, but the agony of the blame he had taking on was loosening its hold on him and a feeling of relief began to flood through him and warm tears of release wet his face.

...


	7. Chapter 7

**Fault Line: Chapter 7**

...

He had spent the last several hours going over and over what Sam had said. He couldn't go to sleep and he didn't want to. He felt different, lighter and free of some of the darkness that had been haunting him and clinging to him since that day. For some reason he was hungry, so he got up and went in search of the kitchen. Maybe Austin had leftovers in the fridge he thought, and his mouth watered in anticipation. It took some searching, but he finally found it and when the lights blinked on, he was surprised at the size of the room. It was almost bigger than his apartment. Large windows and a French door looked out over a stone patio and the garden and he wondered if someone had watched him from here. He wouldn't be surprised if Hetty had been keeping an eye on him; she looked out for all of them, probably more than they knew. Although after this he would never doubt her concern for him again and that gave him a great deal of comfort. His feelings for her had grown deeper and he knew he would do anything for her. She was special to him and he never wanted to lose that connection with her.

As he rummaged in the fridge he heard someone enter the room behind him and he was instantly on alert and felt a quick flash of anxiety and vulnerability surge through him as he jerked upright and quickly turned, his heart pumping hard.

"Still jumpy?" Callen asked with a quick knowing smile.

He felt the air in his lungs release and felt his hand shake, realizing he had automatically reached behind him for the gun he was no longer allowed to carry.

"Yeah, I guess so." He smiled briefly but still held himself tight, not sure if he was ready to get into things with Callen just yet.

"I came looking for a sandwich," Callen said. "Anything look familiar in there?"

"There's a ham," he said and relaxed as he turned back in search of food.

"Any Swiss cheese?" Callen asked as he slowly wandered over on bare feet.

They pulled out everything they would need for a midnight snack, even though it was a lot earlier in the morning, and silently made themselves sandwiches, neither one looking at the other. He had never spent any time alone with Callen one on one and wasn't sure what to say. Before the shooting, he would talk all the time to cover up any silences that came up. It was a bad habit he'd developed to cover up his insecurities, but nowadays he just wanted to keep to himself unless someone forced him into conversation. He'd had a lot of that over the last couple of days and he was tired, so he hoped Callen would just let him be.

They ate in silence and he felt the muscles in his body ease and release some of the tension. He was bare-chested and noticed Callen looking at the bandages that still covered his wounds.

"When do you get the stitches out?" Callen asked as he picked at a couple of small pieces of ham on his plate.

"Not sure, and haven't asked," he answered.

"Are you still in a lot of pain?" he asked, turning to look at him, his brows knitted with concern.

"A little. Like now. I haven't taken any meds since lunch, so they're beginning to burn quite a bit," he said, not looking at him.

Callen got off the stool and walked around the counter and out of the room in the direction of his room, and he was baffled. When he came back he handed him a couple of pain pills and drew him a glass of water. He was stunned by the kindness.

"When I finally managed to pull Commander Reynolds away and got a look at you, I was scared to death and so were Sam and Kensi." Callen sat back down and stared at his plate as he talked. "The exit wound was ragged and you were covered in blood. God, there was a lot of blood. It was coming out of your mouth and nose and I honestly thought you were gonna die right then, before the ambulance ever got there. Sam said the bullet had gone through your lung so he didn't want to lay you down, afraid you'd drown in your own blood, so he held you up while I pressed a towel into the wound in your back and he did the same to your chest. Kensi just kept saying your name and yelling at Eric about the ambulance."

"Sounds ugly, but I don't remember any of it," he shivered at the images those words painted in his mind. He had never thought about being shot that day and he never dreamed about it either. "The only thing I can remember is seeing the look on all of your faces when they were loading me into the ambulance. It looked like you were angry at me for letting the boy get shot."

"We were angry, Deeks. But not at you." Callen's eyes brightened with tears and his mouth worked hard on the words. "We were angry at ourselves for not being there for you. We let the shooter get by us and all of our security, and you and Jamie paid for it. I messed up, Deeks, and when I saw you sitting there, covered in blood, I thought I had gotten both of you killed. I'm sorry. I let you down."

Callen gripped his shoulder hard and he could see the anguish in his eyes and he was shocked. He was beginning to realize that the others were as traumatized as he was over what had happened. The fact that Callen thought he had let him down was mind blowing. He didn't know what to say and they just sat there staring at each other, reliving the terror of that day in their minds and the sadness of its aftermath.

"But I don't blame you, Callen. And I don't blame Sam or Kensi, either." he finally said. "It was my job to protect him. That's what I was there for, and I didn't do that. I know now that I did my best and that I tried to protect him, but I failed. And that's on me."

"But not on you alone, Deeks," Callen's face colored with anger. "We're a team, and we succeed or fail as a team. On that day our team failed the boy and we failed you, too."

"I still made a mistake," he said dropping his head and staring down at his hands. "If I hadn't gone swimming with him I would have heard the shooter in time."

"Sam said you believed that," Callen said softly. "The thing is, Deeks, you almost made it. I watched the security footage and you did notice something and got out of the pool. You were looking toward the shooter and reaching for your gun when he started firing. It all happened so fast and you reacted fast. Within seconds you'd grabbed your weapon and had the boy out of the pool and were almost to safety when you were hit. A few seconds either way and you would have made it. Deeks, I'm not sure you would have survived if you hadn't gone swimming."

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously. He had never looked at the security footage. Seeing himself get shot wasn't high on his list of entertainment options. And his recurring nightmares provided all the images he needed of that awful day.

"Deeks, this guy was a top notch shooter. If you had been sitting quietly, watching Jaime, there was no way he wouldn't have taken you out first. You would have been an easy target."

He had never considered that before and he suddenly gasped at the stark truth of it. It made perfect sense for the shooter to eliminate the boy's bodyguard first and then take his time shooting the boy. It's what the shooter had in mind all along. He had wanted the Commander to suffer and killing his son had always been his goal. It had been the threat in all of his letters.

"We should never have let him go to the pool, Callen," he said.

"You're right and I was responsible for that mistake, not you Deeks," Callen hung his head and it was Deeks turn to comfort him. He put his hand gently on his arm and they sat in silence together.

The pain of that day would take a long time to fade, but he knew now that he wasn't alone in his sorrow or in his feeling of failure. Hetty had been right; failure did change you. It had reminded him that he was just a human being and a fallible one, just like everyone else. He had always thought of Callen as the perfect agent and the perfect leader, and he was most of the time. But no one, not even Callen, was perfect every time it counted. He looked over at the senior agent and could see the loss of the boy had taken a toll on him as well and a feeling of fellowship flooded through him. He didn't feel alone anymore. Now he was sharing the heavy burden of sorrow and that made it easier to bear.

"How do we go on from here, Callen?"

"We learn from our mistakes and we go on together, as a team." Callen said. "We lean on each other and draw strength from each other and we heal together."

"You're starting to sound like Sam," he said with a small smile.

"Or Hetty," Callen said.

...

**Epilogue**

...

In the two months following the shooting the team bonded on a deeper level than he had thought possible. Their failure as a team had brought them closer together and he was thankful for each one of them. They had spent days together in the garden of Hetty's home, eating incredible meals made by Austin Fellers, and going over what had happened on the operation, and arguing out the details and supporting one another. He had seen a sense of longing in Austin during that time and had spoken with him about it. Austin told him how lucky he was to have such a tight team, revealing that he had been entirely on his own during his assignment in Yemen and when he was brought home, only Hetty had been there to help him get back on his feet. When he had mentioned that to the others, they had each made it a point to spend time with Austin and include him in whatever they were doing as a group. By the end of the time they spent there, Austin seemed to have returned to being the character he fondly remembered.

He still carried the sorrow of losing the boy close to his heart; they all did. But with each of the team's help he had managed to deal with what he still saw as his failure and move past it. Now he was returning to duty, and even if restricted, he found he was looking forward to the job.

"Hey Deeks, you look like you've put on some weight," Eric said as he walked into the bullpen.

"Are you calling me fat, Eric?" he asked.

"No, but you look a hundred times better than you did," Eric said hesitantly, and he smiled at him, letting him off the hook.

He had just put his stuff down when Callen motioned for him to follow him into the gym. Kensi rubbed him gently on the back and gave him a brilliant smile as she tagged along.

The first water balloon hit him square in the face, followed quickly by two more, soaking his new shirt and jeans. Callen was laughing so hard he fell down and Kensi was giggling like a kid as she moved out of the line of fire and went to stand behind Sam, who was tossing a fourth water balloon back and forth between his hands with a wicked smile on his face.

"Payback, baby, payback," Sam said as he launched the balloon toward him. He ducked quickly back out the door just as Hetty was coming in to see what was going on. The water balloon exploded on her chest, drenching what was surely a very expensive suit. He peeked around the corner to see Sam with a look of shocked surprise on his face and his hands up in front of himself as Hetty advanced toward him.

He began laughing hysterically as Sam backpedaled and tried to explain to his soaking wet and angry boss that he was just getting even for his broken nose. Hetty reached down a picked up one of the remaining balloons and fired a direct hit on Sam's retreating back and the free-for-all began. By the time all of the water balloons had found there marks the team was thoroughly sopping wet and laughing.

Hetty was walking out when she turned to the team. "We have a case, ladies and gentlemen, so I suggest you get changed and clean this mess up before coming up to Ops. And Mr. Hanna? You owe me a new suit."

All in all, he thought it was a great first day back.

...

_Thanks to all of you for following this story and for your encouraging comments and reviews. You always challenge me to be a better writer and your kind words keep me working at it. _


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